


Life after the Curse

by YukiYashaH



Series: Life After the Curse [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: F/M, So read at your own risk I guess, idk even what tags to put cause it's just me writing in the gaps of feh's plot to make him Kiran's, it has a lot of dingle dangle cause i'm thirsty for the gelatin man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukiYashaH/pseuds/YukiYashaH
Summary: The Alfonse Líf was before he was cursed to serve Hel loved Kiran and always regreted not being able to help her. Seeing that Hel had planned an assassination targeting Kiran's life, Líf abducted the Summoner before anyone could approach her, but the memories of a past life made the hold of the curse weaken in his heart...
Relationships: Líf/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran
Series: Life After the Curse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650370
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	1. Spark of Life in a Cursed Body

Kiran opened her eyes after she had seemingly just closed them, her entire body aching as the tips of her fingers lost their sensation. She was cold. So, so very cold.

The freezing stone she lied on and at never got warmer, no matter how many hours she chose to lay against it – the damp, large cell that imprisoned her didn’t magically become welcoming to her after the third day she had been chained inside it, either.

The large handcuffs itched on her wrists and ankles, preventing her from moving at all; she could barely stretch her legs and arms without feeling a twinge of pain from the short chains securely holding her to the wall.

She had been captured by the army of the dead three days previous in an act of carelessness. The one who abducted her, Líf, was not only her captor, but her warden as well. He had been the only living soul – well, maybe not _that_ alive – she had seen ever since turning prisoner.

Apart from his muffled steps and silent ruffling of his cape dragging itself behind him three times per day, Kiran heard nothing. She had no idea where she was or how far into the Realm of the Dead she were – or if she was in Hel at all. She could be anywhere.

What she _did_ know what that she was at least three levels underground in some sort of abandoned dungeon. The walls weren’t well maintained and there were leakages here and there; also the ventilation was either clogged or broken apart: it was far too cold even for an underground cave. She had been stripped of her Order of Heroes coat under the guise of preventing her from reaching for a hidden weapon, though the most important weapon she had in her possession managed to not be taken: Breidablik was a magical item that could be summoned through her will and a sleight of hand.

Problem was that her hands were bound so tightly together she couldn’t hold her firearm-like weapon properly.

Also, the tips of her fingers were almost losing all sensation – she was barely able to hold the spoon to feed herself whenever her captor came around to deliver her meals, let alone hold the distinguished mechanism that allowed her weapon to shoot magic and summon Heroes.

Sighing, the Summoner looked up to her feeling breath, feeling its warmth fade away from her body and her cell alike. No matter how many times she asked why she was brought there or why was she simply left alone for the most part of the day without ever seeing either the light of the day or the fading light of Hel herself, Líf simply remained silent.

He would bring her meals in silence, place the tray in front of her in silence, turn around and stay outside in silence until enough time had passed for her to finish eating so he could collect the tray and disappear into the nether for another six hours.

Then he would come back and repeat that strange ritual, while the silence would echo back Kiran’s words to herself.

She was tired. It’s ‘only’ been three days, but she had barely slept due to the cold and hard stone, not to mention the lack of feeling from all of her limbs – were she to stay in that position for another day, she was sure she would need to amputate both legs and arms for lack of proper circulation.

As though on cue, the ruffling sound of Líf’s cape and his muffled steps filled the silence with echo, the small sounds augmenting to the point of hurting Kiran’s ears.

She was tired.

He pushed the door open – Kiran noticed the previous day that it was unlocked, thus the reason why she was chained to the wall instead – and entered in silence, his eyes quickly looking around the cell to check if there was anything out of place.

How could it be, Kiran thought, uncharacteristically ironic, I can’t even stretch my legs from here, let alone wreak havoc inside an unlocked cell. Her tired eyes looked at his, their dark circles mirroring each other. She opened her mouth to speak, but barely a huff left her lips, exhaustion filling her lungs.

As per usual, Líf placed the tray by her folded knees, not waiting for her to reach for it before turning around to leave.

“Why…” she managed to say, her voice hoarse. He stopped in his tracks. “Why are you keeping me here, Alfonse? Don’t just stay… silent, please.” She huffed, her eyes burning with tears.

“…” Líf looked over his shoulder to his captive, their equally tired eyes meeting. She thought she saw a flash of compassion gleaming on his crimson gaze, but dismissed it as an illusion her mind prepared to make herself feel better. “The living should eat.” He sounded muffled by his mask at the same time it shone in a brighter tone of blue while his voice spoke. “So do so.” He said curtly, exiting the cell and closing the door behind him.

“Hahh…” Kiran breathed out a long sigh, her body deflating above itself, her muscles screaming in pain. As always, she could see his blue hair from the small, barred, window at the door, as well as the shadow of his feet in front of the gap under the door.

There _had_ to be a reason for her to be so isolated from everything else. To start with, why did the _General_ of the Dead capture her and put her so far from wherever they should actually be? Wasn’t he a cursed version of Alfonse bound to obedience by Hel because he was dead? Why wasn’t Kiran presented to Death herself immediately? Was he trying to slowly kill her and chip away her will to fight back before delivering her to a gruesome fate under the same curse as he?

… Why did he visit her at all if that were the case? He brought her meals three times a day – though they were tasteless as they could be, they fulfilled their role of feeding her and (poorly) conserving her strength, as far as meals go, anyway. 'The living need to eat’, he had said, as though he planned to keep on letting her stay that way, alive.

Calling him by his true name did nothing to steal answers from him, either. It made it hard for Kiran to compare the pure, hardworking and thoughtful Alfonse she knew to that silence machine. Even if he _did_ look like a grown up and hardier Alfonse. If only he took that mask so she could see the true face of the cursed man under it…

Kiran only noticed she had finished eating when the door opened once again for Líf to collect the tray. She instinctively grabbed his hand, the cold metal of his armor doing nothing to her already numb fingers.

His eyebrows flickered with her touch, his eyes immediately meeting hers. She breathed in before speaking, though she had no idea where those words came from. “Did the Kiran of your world join the army of the dead as well?”

His eyes widened with the most emotion Kiran had ever seen from him – they flickered from the usual crimson to Alfonse’s true color, the deep blue the Summoner was used to. He frowned deeply, his eyes flickering with both colors, as though an inner fight had sparked inside his mind and heart.

Kiran could hear him breathing. Or perhaps huffing? That had been the first time she heard him do so – she could almost pinpoint his heart beating, as though it was surfacing from a long, cold sleep. His chest went up and down, as though Kiran’s words had triggered memories sealed deep within to surface in flashes, his vision blurring – the only constant was the Summoner’s warm touch over his ever-cold arm.

Memories – they rushed into Líf’s consciousness.

Her voice, her warm touch.

Her clumsiness, her eagerness to run around the large fields while pulling his hand, never letting go even after tripping – taking him with her.

Rolling down the hills while dissolving in laughter, protecting her from most of the impact and still allowing mirth to shake his body despite the numbing pain of taking the brunt of the falls.

And oh, how many times did they fall.

But as long as they were together, as long as their hands were intertwined, he didn’t mind taking the brunt for her.

He always did and he always would.

Yet… why was she the first one to jump in front of Hel’s scythe directed at him? Why did she disappear into light right in front of his eyes, never to be seen again?

Why did they never meet after death? Did she return to her world? Did death claim her there?

Where was she?

“K-Kiran, oh, Kiran…” his voice shook, his mind stuck in the awakening dream.

Surprised with the deep-reaching sweetness that came attached to her own name, Kiran felt her eyes bubbling with tears, as though his voice alone could touch her heart. “Alfonse?” She whispered, almost lovingly so, reaching out for his mask so as to take it off.

Once she did, she could see that the intersection between skin and curse was black, like a charred scar that still pulsated. Under his nose and covering half of his lips, she could see the scar as the lower half of his jaw was covered in that blue curse, the bones visible through the transparent skin.

Hesitating before touching it, Kiran felt that the cursed half of his face was cold and warm at the same time, as though she touched something with the sensation of being febrile. Yet, the upper half, untouched by the curse and filled with his pale skin, felt warm to the touch, as though he were alive like herself.

Líf felt his entire body pulsate, the color of the curse throughout his body changing from blue to red, then to his natural skin color.

“Alfonse…” Kiran whispered his name again, the careful and tender emotion with which he looked past her – as though seeing someone else in her, other than herself – made her sag her shoulders and cup his face into her hands.

She heard a strong, loud heartbeat. Then another, and yet another. The faster it beat, the fainter the curse took hold of Líf, revealing his true skin under the bright blue.

An approaching dread made Líf shiver as he immediately blinked, seeing the true Kiran in front of him.

No. She wasn’t his Kiran. Not the one who died in place of him to give their world a chance.

She was the one he had to protect; to prevent Hel from ever finding her lest she was butchered right in front of his eyes a second time.

She wasn’t his, but oh, by all the gods, did he long for the day she would be. A day that would never come, granted – not in his after-life. Not after he had missed the chance to be happy with her while he was alive.

“No!” He hissed, quickly jumping away from her. Hel could feel life.

Whenever there was life, death loomed closer.

Only Kiran’s life force was different, for Hel had no hold in the world she came from. If Kiran was properly hidden amidst the dead, Hel would never find her.

But if Líf’s heart started beating once more…

“That would be a lighthouse in the darkness for Hel to follow,” his words outpaced his mind, speaking without meaning to.

Confused, almost bewildered by Líf’s explosion of emotion, Kiran reached out for him once more. “Alfonse? What happened? You were-”

“Don’t-” his voice struggled to keep emotionless as before, his chest still going up and down fervently, trying to suppress the rush of feelings. He covered half of his face with one hand, pulling his cloak closer with the other. “Do not call that name again. Not with her voice.” He huffed, quickly leaving as though he needed to run away from her – from her touch, from her memory.

From what she could awaken in him.

Inside the cell, Kiran could feel her heart beating in her ears, thumping so loudly it deafened her thoughts. He had left in such a hurry he forgot not only the tray but also to close the door entirely. He was running away from her.

Running away from what she could awaken in him. She could feel it in her innermost core: Líf – no, the Alfonse he was before the curse – loved her. Loved the memory of the Kiran he had lost during the battle against Hel; found her so precious he kidnapped this Kiran who looked like her but did not share her memories nor her feelings to protect her from Hel. A rather clumsy attempt at protecting, yes, but it was as though their quick but meaningful exchange had enlightened her.

He had been dead for so, so long.

He only had the fading memories of life to hold on to, and even those were diving into the abyss of darkness that his death was becoming.

To him, living meant only eating – mayhap he forgot about everything else in the hundreds of years of servitude to Death.

Kiran’s heart beat wildly, inadvertently smiling, but covering her lips right after. “Clumsy, but cute. As though the Alfonse in there never went away at all.”

In his desperation, Líf had taken much too long to calm himself down; to bring back the coldness of death into his body. Making his own heart stop beating willingly was a strenuous task he never thought he would need to undertake. After all, the curse had been the one to do that the first time.

Before he realized, it was dawn – he hadn’t taken Kiran’s third meal of the previous day, which startled him to the point of hearing the faint beating at the back of his mind again.

There was no way Hel did not notice the flicker of life coursing through his body in the previous night – even if he hadn’t actually met Death herself that day, he knew she had complete domain over all the withered lands around them. The parallel Order of Heroes turtled through their territory in search of their Summoner, but it would take them at least another week before they reached the dungeon into which Líf had brought Kiran to.

Was that enough time? Was that too little time? How long would it take for Death to act and claim his life as she did with Eir, for so very long? How long would it take until Death reclaimed its ownership of Kiran’s life right in front of his eyes, once again by his own carelessness?

It had been a mistake – to allow himself to remember so much. To feel alive again, even if it were only for a brief moment. To hear his own heart beating for that small, shivering and utterly charming woman.

To want to hold her hand, caress her body and claim her for his own as he had done so very long ago.

A mistake. One that could not be repeated again – ideally ever, but more realistically at least until the Order of Heroes reached the dungeon.

He reached the dungeon after taking his usual precautions so as not to be noticed and entered swiftly, going down the steps in an uncharacteristic hurry. The moment he saw the wide open door, he felt a twinge where his heart used to be. Had she left?! Was he to never look upon her again?

Once he reached the door, however, the answer both relieved and terrified him – Kiran lay on the floor, breathing heavily with her arms wrapped around herself. He didn’t hear his voice calling her name, his body once again gleaming with life and dread at the same time. “Answer me! Has Hel claimed your-” he stuttered, his eyes trying to find the reason for her body to be so hot and her breathing to be so shallow at the same time.

“Alfonse…” She huffed, reaching out for his face. He had forgotten his mask in her hands the previous day, his expressions bare for her to see, as little as she could with her blurred vision. “I think I’m… catching a cold, hah.” She coughed weakly, pulling him with everything she had so she could snuggle with his cold skin. A mistake, clearly, but her mind was fogged and she longed for the warmth she had felt in him the last time they met.

“Cold? A cold?” His eyes unfocused, he took a few moments to remember that the living indeed could get sick if they were exposed to low temperatures for long periods of time.

How utterly careless and clumsy! Líf had been dead for so long he didn’t feel any more sensations in his skin – neither cold, nor hot. He never stopped to think that Kiran could freeze to death in that damp, freezing cell.

He looked around, helpless as though he were a toddler trying to find something right in front of him, for something that could cure Kiran. He caught a glimpse of his own cloak and immediately covered her with it, at least giving her the well-deserved warmth he had robbed her for almost a week.

“Ahh, so warm…” Kiran smiled, leaning her cheek on his febrile chest. At the verge of panicking, Líf was unsure of what to do: it would do no good to kidnap her for her safety and have her die of a common disease! What did the living do in these situations, again? Why did he remember so much about his relationship with her, but nothing about the common sense of a living man?

Kiran snuggled into his chest, tightly wrapping herself in his thick cloak. “Thank you for what you’ve been doing for me, Alfonse.” She said in a feverish daydream. “You’ve been protecting me, haven’t you? From the dead… Even though I’m not… her.” She huffed, her eyes closed, but her ears catching the slightest glimpse of his resurfacing heartbeat.

Unable to form proper words, Líf simply adjusted Kiran in his arms, allowing her to lean on him entirely instead of the cold stone behind her. Tea? Warm stew? Were these enough to cure a cold? He had no idea.

“You… you can think of me as her.” Kiran said after a few moments of silence, the fever making her mind fog. “I’ll comfort you, Alfonse. I’ll embrace your… feelings.” She huffed, placing one hand over his bare, cursed chest, making him flinch with her touch.

The place her fingers touched turned red, then returned to his skin color, as though the mere presence of her was enough to lift it entirely.

Once again he felt his heart beating and thundering by his ears, his eyes unused to the high his mind was going through.

“You are… sick.” He managed to scramble the words, hesitating on whether he should take her hand away from him or to embrace her entirely.

Kiran chuckled, breathing the cool air under the long-awaited warmth of his cloak. “Psh, I’m fine. If I just sleep a bit, I’ll wake up alright.”

Líf may have let out a strangled 'oh’ in response, but he didn’t remember – he was focusing all of his forces into making his heart stop beating again. Into making himself stop feeling.

Into stopping his hand from embracing her and bringing her closer to his chest.

Kiran woke up many hours later, at the late afternoon, feeling refreshed _and_ without many body aches. Once she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, she saw that she was surrounded by thick blankets and a large pillow – all of them looking _and_ smelling very old, but at least doing their job of making her comfortable rather well.

What had happened? She remembered hearing Líf’s– no, Alfonse’s voice calling her, then strong arms holding her… She remembered talking of comfort and embracing, but little else.

Still, whom but Líf could have brought all of these for her? She still hung into his cloak, as well. The door was also closed, and the food atop the tray, restocked.

Kiran took one hand to her heart, to reassert herself of what was going on, and why was she feeling the way she did. She had discovered Líf’s feelings for her, or at least for another version of her – the version who died and left him behind, helpless and cursed. She found out about the Alfonse-like clumsiness he still had in him, as well as the way his mind, long poisoned by death, worked slowly regarding the matters of the living. It all made the first days of her captivity to feel like a wronged nightmare – a clumsy mistake.

She was still chained, yes, but even the chains had changed, from a heavy iron to a light wood; they barely weighed on her arms and weren’t nearly as cold.

There was also the matter of Líf’s touch. His skin felt cold and warm at the same time, but whenever she could hear a heartbeat in the distance, the warmth outweighed the coldness. As though he felt so much for such a short period of time that it momentarily brought him back to life.

The tips of Kiran’s fingers tingled, wanting to feel his skin under them again. Her heart wavered, wanting to be tenderly embraced another time – and properly remember it. Her lungs huffed, her face embarrassed as she remembered the words she had uttered previously. “I’ll comfort you? I’ll embrace your feelings? What?!” She hissed shyly, shoving food into her mouth, her cheeks bright red.

Not two seconds later, Líf opened the door. The missing shuffling of his cloak making Kiran unable to detect his soft steps, which in turn made her choke with food in surprise.

Líf reached out to her, but hesitated as she almost coughed a lung to un-choke herself, unsure of what to do. Instead, he simply stood there, hand midway into action.

“Um, thank you for all of this,” Kiran cleared her throat, signaling with her chin to the blankets and pillow around her. “I almost caught a cold there, but you saved me.”

It had been his fault to begin with, Líf narrowed his eyes with guilt, but said nothing. He simply stared as she ate, unmoving from the door.

Still embarrassed from her sudden realization, Kiran munched in silence, quickly swallowing before speaking again. “Um… Can I ask something?”

“…” Líf remained silent, though he crossed his arms as though giving her leave to speak. Well, even if it weren’t, she would have spoken anyway.

“Can I, um, can I take a walk? We don’t need to go far or outside at all, but I need to stretch my legs… I’m afraid I won’t remember how to walk if I stay here for too long.”

Líf felt his chest fall, as though his slumbering heart felt guilt. He opened and closed his mouth many times, glad that he was wearing his mask once again.

“I promise I won’t run away.” She added, her pleading eyes making Líf’s legs feel funny. “I wouldn’t be able to, anyway,” she mumbled under her breath, messing with a lock of hair as she usually did whenever she felt awkward.

Líf had to take one hand to his chest, as though he could clutch his heart which felt so much pain and devotion at the same time.

He hadn’t felt anything in so long the sudden resurgence of feelings felt like a bucket of cold water slapped him in the face. He remembered.

Every single detail of his life beside her, he remembered.

How she would mess with that specific lock of hair whenever she was embarrassed to ask him for something so menial. To spend more time with him, to hug him for a while longer. To follow her into a place she thought secret but was actually a garden he had spent his childhood in.

He had never told her about that, actually; always relishing on her proud smile to show him this or that detail of the secluded and forgotten place. She had always been so pure, so eager, so…

So lovely.

His eyes almost hurt with emotion, his entire body struggling to keep his heart at bay.

Just another moment.

Just another moment beside her.

She meekly looked up to him, still holding that damned and adorable lock of hair, “Alfonse?” she asked in her sweet voice, making Líf shake in his innermost core.

He couldn’t let these feelings overflow; he couldn’t let them take control.

But, by the gods, he _had_ to, he _needed_ to spend another moment, another second in her presence.

“Only… until the end of the corridor.” He managed to say, his voice strangled. “I know you wouldn’t run away,” he said softly, his voice so low Kiran barely understood the words.

To hear his name in her voice again; to be the target of her meek and embarrassed gaze; to witness how the smile would slowly be born in her face and be the sole spectator of its wonderful display.

“Thank you so much! But, um, there’s something else…” She hesitated, never letting go of her hair as he crouched to open the chains. She held both hands over his arm, making all of the alarms inside his head and dormant heart ring. “I… Can I hold your arm while I walk? It’s been almost a week and I don’t think I can walk properly just yet.”

His heart twinged, his eyes almost burning with emotion.

He wanted to touch her, to embrace her.

He wanted to welcome the feelings that were forcefully ripping his chest apart.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be the Alfonse who had summoned her! To be the one who would live his days by her side!

“…” He nodded so faintly Kiran almost missed it, but the sound of her giggle only made him want to lay there a while longer, under the warmth of her hands.

“Thank you, Alfonse. I knew I could always count on you,” she whispered giddily, struggling to pull herself on her feet after she was freed from the chains. “Oh, I mustn’t forget this,” she quickly wrapped herself around his cloak before going back to squeezing his arm for support, making him want to clutch his chest once more.

She was so small. So, very small. The cape that barely ruffled on the floor in his back dragged itself for many inches behind her small feet as they walked out of the cell.

Her limbs felt weak, but it felt oh so good to be able to walk again! She smiled all the way through their outing as short as it was, considering they just went around the block and back at her cell. Líf held the door as Kiran went inside, not wanting to break contact with him, but securely holding his cloak around herself. She wouldn’t let him take it back from her, at least not yet.

She gave but one step inside and stopped in her tracks, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Um, Alfonse. I- um, I meant what I said earlier.” She pulled his cape over her head to hide herself and quickly hid under the other blankets in embarrassment.

Líf slowly lowered his head, feeling heat cover his cheeks for the first time in hundreds of years. He closed the door between them, the silent agreement of keeping her inside without chains nor locks making the both of them look forward to the next time they would meet.

The General of the dead walked at small paces to the exit, silently going up the stairs as his heart seemingly calmed down by itself, somehow confident in spending more time with Kiran inside that little space he selfishly started calling their own.

Yet, as soon as he stepped outside, the cold wind of reality slapped him awake, scaring away any flushed faces and uneven heartbeats: the Order of Heroes had picked up their pace and would reach the dungeon in the morning.

Líf’s scouts had informed him that the Order was being led by the elite of its Hero Generals; accomplished individuals in their own world who combined their mettle to save their Summoner.

His chest fell once again.

They would arrive and save her, as he had planned – he managed to hide her from Hel’s attempt of ambushing their Order the previous week, and managed to keep her hidden for his own convenience. After the panic he felt the previous night, it should have been a blessing that the Order would catch up to her so quickly – Hel wouldn’t be able to pinpoint Kiran’s location through Líf’s awakening heart and she would be able to come back safely to her rightful place: beside the Alfonse she knew.

It should have been a blessing.

She would be happy. She would live.

Líf felt his eyes burn with unshed tears, his breathing uneven. His heart was feeling, his body was aching. The lingering warmth her hands left on his arm was long gone, but he wanted to believe it was still there.

He wanted to feel it until the rest of his days. He wanted to hear her voice, to watch her fumbling with her hair, to see her clumsily lead him to places he already knew of.

'I’ll comfort you. Think of me as her. I’ll accept your feelings.’ Her words echoed in his mind.

It was wrong.

It was so very wrong. The deepest part of him that was still that good natured Alfonse screamed inside, wanting him not to entertain that idea: not to take advantage of someone who looked so much like the one he loved.

Looked so much like her it could actually have been her from another time – from a moment’s earlier in time before she was summoned to this world.

What if they were the same? What if she disappeared in his world only to reappear in this one?

“Wishful thinking,” he snarked in spite of himself, frozen between the hill that he could see the Order from afar and the dungeon he could see in the distance on the opposite side.

Wishful thinking, and yet… His recently-awakened heart was still so weak. He couldn’t- he hadn’t the strength to talk back to it, at least not that soon.

He wanted her, he needed her.

If only for one night… If only for one single night they could be together; if only they could go back to being the Crown Prince of Askr and his beloved Summoner… if only for a moment, to hear her sweet voice calling his name by his ear again…

“No,” he fought with himself until the end, despite his legs taking him back to the dungeon and down the stairs. “Only… only if she allows it.” He found the perfect excuse to chain himself to. Only if she gives the first step.

He lingered in front of her door for a very long time, his hand hesitating by the handle. Inside, Kiran woke up from her restless sleep, seeing the blue glow that covered Líf’s body from the window at the door. “Alfonse? Did something happen? It’s… not dawn yet, is it?”

Ahh, her voice.

He opened the door soundlessly, stepping inside with difficulty. “No…” he whispered, crouching in front of her.

“What… happened?” She sat in confusion, watching how his expression turned from regret to contained emotion. She reached out to his mask, hesitating before actually touching it. “Alfonse?”

He felt the mask slip away under her fingers, the silent 'clop’ of it being placed carefully on the stone floor being forgotten by his ears.

Once again Kiran looked at his hardened face and painful expression. She placed part of his long bangs behind his ears, touching her forehead on his. “Are you alright?” She asked, feeling his uncertain fingers intertwine in hers, his eyes closing as though he had finally found home again.

He wanted to, he needed to– but he shouldn’t.

“Your rescue is on the way. They’ll be here by dawn.” He reported, almost mechanically so, refusing to open his eyes and face her; wanting to dive into her warmth one last time before sending her back to where she belonged.

Kiran could see how much he struggled, how much he suffered to be chained under this curse. He longed for the woman he loved – never to touch her again for death had seen them apart. Yet there she was, right in front of him, pulsating with energy.

With life.

“Won’t you hold me?” She gulped as she wrapped both arms around his neck, holding his face into her chest. “I- I’ll find a way to save you, Alfonse.” She whispered as he widened his eyes, the warmth of her heartbeat filling his ears. “I want you to be with me, to stay by my side.”

“Enough,” he pulled her closer to him, one hand by her waist. “Don’t waste your breath with empty promises. Don’t fill my dead heart with useless hope.” He huffed, nudging his nose on hers, their cheeks a mix of cold and hot as their breaths intertwined.

“It’s not useless,” she grabbed his hair with both hands, digging her nails into his scalp as she opened her mouth to welcome him. “But now’s not the time for words.”

She felt his cold tongue slip into hers, sending a mix of sensations down her throat and into her heart – she could feel his cold hands lift her measle string shirt and reveal her breasts, shivering under his icy touch.

His kiss was long and hungry, the taste of hers the first thing he had had ever since losing his life, so long ago. Kiran moaned his name as he slowly placed her down the myriad of blankets, never wanting to part with her lips.

His hands travelled from her nipples to her waist, pulling up the miniskirt she wore to reveal her underwear. His feverish touch making her roll her eyes in pleasure, the mix of hot and cold making her shiver and pulsate inside.

For the first time in his after-life, Líf had to breathe heavily, pulling away from the kiss so as to fill his lungs with air once again. “Kiran…” he whispered her name lovingly, placing kiss after kiss on her lips, then on her jaw, following to her ear.

“Hnn- A-Alfonse,” she bemoaned, huffing for air as her eyes lost their focus.

The curse changed colors once again – from blue to red, then to his natural skin color. He tried not to feel, not to succumb, but rubbing his bare skin on hers, to feel her increasingly hot body shiver under his touch drove him into accepting the life he had been denying inside of him.

He had taken off his gauntlets without her noticing, his bare fingers, mixed with curse and real flesh, touching her over her underwear.

“Ah!” She squirmed with pleasure, making Líf bite her neck so as to come into terms that he felt an erection rising.

Blood was coursing through his veins once again – he felt his body alive, even though the blue curse still shone through his bones. He felt it pulsate urgently, craving to be engulfed in Kiran’s warmth, in her hottest insides.

His cold fingers slipped into her panties, reacquainting themselves with her layout – they moved as though he had never forgotten her body in the first place; touching and nipping at the places he remembered she enjoyed the most.

Kiran shivered under his touch, her body hot enough for both of them as he inserted one cold finger into her: it was a magical sensation to say the least. It was cold, but he moved with swiftness and tenderness, making her twitch around him and suck him in with everything she had.

“A-Alfonse,” she said so meekly she almost begged, pulling him towards her for another feverish kiss. This time he felt like he didn’t need to hold anything back: he dove into her taste and sucked into her tongue, wanting to claim it all for himself.

For all eternity, even if it only lasted one night.

His fingers kept going in and out of her, pleasuring her until she couldn’t make coherent words anymore; she simply drunkenly called his name and nipped at his lips, wanting more.

Her body wouldn’t be satisfied with only fingers.

“P-please,” she begged for the third time, her lower body shivering with pleasure, almost at the breaking point. “Alfonseee,” she cried out as he massaged her clitoris, relishing on her weak voice by his ear.

“Kiran,” he called her name over and over, licking the nape of her neck and leaving mark upon mark on her. “Hah, hah… my Kiran.” He huffed as he released his erection from his tight pants, feeling it bump on the thin, drenched fabric of her underwear.

Kiran gulped with anticipation, opened her legs further to welcome him inside of her. She panted, pulling his lips towards hers so they could share another long, deep kiss as he pulled her underwear to the side, prodding his erection in place.

“Alfons-aaahnn…!” She cried out loudly, his might much more than what she expected, her eyes rolling in pleasure.

“I lov-” he whispered under her moans, falling into her deaf ears as he finally declared the feelings he had locked away for so long. “Mine. My Kiran.” He groaned in pleasure, his entire body regaining its living warmth once again.

Kiran felt his cold erection rip inside her, pleasing her in ways she never thought possible. The more he thrusted, the warmer it became, to the point of making her feel like she was on fire – the fire of his feelings for her, the fire of her awakened feelings for him.

He thrusted deep and fast, pounding at her sensitive spot as though he had done it a thousand times before. Helpless to his might, Kiran simply dug her nails into his scalp again, taking everything she had to cling herself into reality, her body almost transcending due to pleasure.

She felt her heart being poured with his tenderness and love; her body being showered by his might and strength. Her insides shook and twitched with pleasure as he went in and out, in and out.

The rhythm of their love-making made Kiran let out the most memorable moans Líf had ever heard her utter, his mind dutifully committing everything to memory for the future.

He never thought his body, devoid of feeling for so many decades, could reach a climax once again, but he wouldn’t mistake that feeling for anything: his body shivered, his senses snapped, his mind wanted to mindlessly thrust until Kiran screamed his name and only his.

She felt her own approaching as he accelerated his movements, her body never wanting it to stop, but needing to share that moment with him – together, they felt their bodies shiver and twitch in pleasure at the same time, his fluids being released freely inside of her.

Panting, as her lower parts pulsated with pleasure, Kiran’s arms fell limp on the side, the rough love-making taking all the energy she had managed to build up that previous day.

“Alfonse…” she moaned weakly as consciousness evaded her, her body still wanting to be ravished more and more. “I’ll bring you to our side… I swear I will.”

Smiling for what it felt like the first time, Líf picked the adored tuft of hair Kiran always messed with and kissed it, never wanting to pull out from inside of her. “I will not believe such wishful promises, but I’ll hold onto this night for the rest of my days… my Kiran.”


	2. Death, a Beginning

Líf’s cursed body returned to how it had always been before Kiran had briefly sparked life into it. Under the command of Hel, Líf strode to battle the parallel Order of Heroes time and again, his body feeling heavier and heavier as he did so.

His legs felt as though they longed to return to the earth; to go to the eternal sleep Hel robbed him of after his death. After all, that would be preferable than to face Kiran again and again, refusing to look at her in the eyes as they stood on opposite sides of the battlefield. He could feel her piercing gaze burning holes into his body – it made his chest tighten as though his heart could come back to life by simply being under her scrutinizing observation. He couldn’t allow that.

He would hold onto the memory of their shared night together and complete his mission as Hel’s Commander until the appointed time.

Yes.

Only until the parallel Alfonse, the one that Kiran should give her love to, pierced Líf’s unbeating heart with Fólkvangr. Only then he knew he would be granted the eternal rest his mind craved for, if only to distance itself from the body that clamored to be touched by Kiran again. The body and unresting heart that longed to be watched by her; to be close enough to hear her breathing on his skin.

He wanted her to look at him and only him. But he ran from her gaze, for the pressure his weak, reawakened heart suffered from his overwhelming feelings threatened to make all of his convictions crumble. He wanted her embrace, her touch, her heat, her gaze, her damned fidgeting lock of hair. Oh, vengeful, fickle gods! He had been freed from the pains of the living only to revive them the moment she uttered his forsaken name with that alluring voice of hers.

Each new battle increased the weight of his steps, the piercing gaze of Kiran’s making Líf’s body waver. The day the army of the dead lost Thrasir was the decisive moment for its Commander.

It was finally time for the sweet release, but not before he did his all to at least fulfill the vow he had made to himself, as wavering as that resolve had become in the past few weeks.

He felt Alfonse’s sword dig deep into his chest, a smile inadvertently sprouting under his mask. “This is it, then?” He managed to cough out, the entire body feeling numb.

Alfonse, the young man Líf once had been, pressed his lips into a thin line, as though he was holding back his tears. “I couldn’t save you; I’m sorry.”

Kiran’s muffled sobs sounded behind the prince, her body crumpling to the ground. “A-Alfonse…!” She hiccupped, covering her mouth with both hands, tears endlessly streaming down her cheeks. “I made that promise and yet- yet!” she sniffled between sobs, crawling towards Líf as he was slowly dissolving into countless specks of light.

“Do not apologize, Alfonse.” Líf felt his eyelids heavy with the approaching dissolution. He knew in his mind that that was what he wanted, but now that it arrived, he was washed over with regret. “You won. You weren’t driven by madness,” he huffed to the approaching Kiran, gently touching her soaked cheeks. “You weren’t unable to save the ones you love.” He whispered, the simple action of speaking turning more and more difficult as his body disintegrated.

Alfonse’s chin trembled as he squeezed the hilt of his sword. Sharena sobbed in Eir’s embrace, unable to watch the scene any further as Kiran gripped the hand Líf had deposited over her cheek.

“Oh, Al-Alfonse!” The Summoner choked on the word, her vision blurry as more and more of Líf’s body was consumed by the specks of blue light. “Don’t lea-ve… don’t leave me again! I’ve only just found you…” She squeezed her eyes to shoo away the tears, at least wanting to meet his gaze, but to no avail – they wouldn’t nor couldn’t stop.

The words flowed out of her mouth without her knowing, as though they came from her very soul.

Líf widened his eyes, barely the only part of him left to disintegrate, his voice not coming out as he wanted to scream Kiran’s name.

Darkness surrounded his very being, not mattering whether his eyes were open or closed.

Eyes? Open? How could the Void allow one to have such thoughts? 

Líf had been released into the nothingness – he was supposed to have finally, truly, achieved death. So why was he able to form conscious thoughts?

Not only that, but as more time passed, the more he could grow conscious of his own body – he felt the feeling of his limbs return, the tips of his cold fingers in contact with his pitch-black armor. He felt the compulsion to breathe as though he had never forgotten how to – and, most of all, he felt the foreign, utterly welcome beat coming from inside his chest.

It was faint and scarce, mayhap only once every a long while, but it was definitely there.

His heart was beating again; too faint for it to belong to a living person, but still too much for a dead, cursed one. It was the sensation he only felt during his hastened stay with Kiran; the hold the curse held on his body, mind and heart had weakened to the point of his entire being clamoring to return to where it belonged: beside Kiran.

His body fought against the death that claimed him, refusing to obey what the mind had decided to be the best course of action.

His heart was beating.

Was he alive? It couldn’t be!

The eyes that were too heavy just a moment ago shot open, the breath the lungs took burning his insides for it was still a foreign action.

“You’re awake.” A familiar, highly unlikely voice spoke from the side. Líf’s eyes were still getting used to the surroundings; his vision was blurry as though he were a newborn baby getting used to the outside world.

The former Commander of the dead squeezed his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his hand. “Veronica?” He asked with a groan, shaking his head so as to dispel the thick fog grasping his consciousness.

Thrasir, Líf’s second-in-command, stood by the door, her crossed arms signaling her slight annoyance. “I’ve been awake here for a bit, but there’s nothing but an empty corridor. The architecture resembles the ones we’ve seen on the ancient ruins, but this castle looks brand new.”

“How long have you been here?” Líf cleared his throat, overly conscious of how his vocal chords trembled as he spoke.

Thrasir bobbed her head to the sides. “Less than five minutes, I’d wager. You appeared a little after I opened my eyes.”

“Minutes?” Líf felt his body move, the muscles he’d forgotten he had stretching as he did so. “You’ve been defeated weeks before I did. Are we in a world where time flows differently?”

“Weeks? Hm.” Thrasir took one hand to her chin in thought. “I didn’t wander too far since you were still unconscious, so I can’t really tell where we are.”

“So we’ve failed to die yet again? What madness is this?” Líf dared to move his body, getting up with difficulty.

He remembered how that felt.

It was the weight of life that hindered his body. His movements didn’t flow effortlessly like they did while he was dead. He needed to use his own energy to move, resulting on his limbs cramping as though they needed lubrication.

He felt… alive. Just barely, as though only a thread connected his cursed body to it, but it was certainly the burden of life that weighed his movements.

Not giving either of them the time to come to terms with the new life shining within their death, an overwhelming presence made itself known just in the corridor next to the room they were in. The raw power it exuded made both of them widen their eyes in shock, unbelieving that such an omnipotent being could exist in any of the worlds.

Startled, the former commanders of the dead reached for their weapons, gluing themselves to the wall to form a plan.

The presence threaded closer to them, uttering no sound from its footsteps.

“Prince and princess of a ruined realm…” An otherworldly voice spoke – one couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or a woman, for it simply rang in their heads as though it could consume them with but a whisper.

Líf felt the faint beating of his heart speed up, the sensation of being pressured by a world-shattering power one that he hadn’t felt ever since his life was taken by Hel’s scythe. He gripped Sökkvabekkr in his hands, painfully aware that nothing he could possibly ever do would subjugate the being walking towards them.

Even so, because he didn’t know what was its intention, he decided to fight for this draft of life that had been granted to him. If he could be alive again, then…

“Know that the heavens have witnessed your battle.” A woman-shaped being walked through the open doors, her palms facing her front as though she could all but summon every single particle in this world to obliterate them if she wished.

Thrasir narrowed her eyes, adjusting her tome on her hand. “And you are?”

The woman lifted her chin to assert her superiority, a smirk sprouting at the corners of her lips. “I am called Thórr. In the eyes of mortals, I am seen as the god of war.”

The always pleasant smell of the flowers were already making Kiran feel sick of them. The weather was always good and the flowers were always in full bloom inside Ljósálfheimr, the land of dreams. The Summoner sat by what anyone would call an idyllic hill, surrounded by all sorts of beauty, digging her face between her knees, holding her legs as she sighed.

An unidentified amount of time had passed since Líf’s demise. To be more precise, a little over six weeks had gone by before Kiran found herself trapped inside the land of dreams, and ever since then, she couldn’t tell day from night; weeks from months.

Though that had been the case ever since she witnessed Líf disappear right within her grasp – time felt meaningless. Even now, in Ljósálfheimr, good and bad dreams seemed to avoid her: both dökkálfar and ljósálfar steered clear of her, as though she were either invisible or inconsequential to their agendas. She saw a few nightmares roaming about, destroying anything they touched, but she barely felt any compulsion to stay away from them.

She just watched as everything happened to her or around her, her own life turning into that of a passive agent: waiting. Simply… waiting.

Kiran had cried until she had no more tears left before she sniffed Hel out of existence with her enhanced Breidablik – and yet, the void inside her chest ate away at herself with each passing day, refusing to allow her to be whole again after she had truly experienced the happiness she had always sought.

Her world had turned grey, little by little, little by little. Even now, the land of dreams looked dull, the myriad of flowers she used as cushion doing nothing to faze the heart that had given up on trying.

Even the nature of Ljósálfheimr – one that would show those the dreams they wanted – could barely scratch the surface of what Kiran truly needed. Whenever her mind wandered to the only one that could bring color back to her eyes, the world would show phantoms of her and Líf walking hand in hand, smiling happily.

It would show her scenes that had never happened before – at least, not during this time. It showed her pulling him along towards a garden she had found and was eager to show him, followed by the both of them tripping and rolling down a hill, dissolving in laughter at the bottom. The Líf in the memory was the Alfonse he had been before the curse took ahold of him, though they still shared the same loving gaze when directed towards herself. The images of the cursed and the live man would overlap, showing Kiran the passionate night they had shared together before he had practically ran away from her in shame.

“Enough,” Kiran covered her face with both hands, quivering her brow as her heart ached. “These aren’t good dreams at all…” she choked a soundless sob, though her eyes remained dry since a long while ago.

Not even when a dökkálfar found her did the nightmares they showed manage to rattle her heart – so what if they kept repeating the day she last touched Líf in a desperate attempt to keep him whole? Her own mind already did that at every waking moment (and she had not slept ever since arriving in the land of dreams), so they had no power over her.

Trapped in a world where nightmares snatched scoffs out of her and dreams would slowly chip away the remainder of her shattered heart.

Kiran was tired.

So, so very tired.

With a sleight of hand, she summoned Breidablik, which obediently materialized in her hand within a flash of light. The ancient weapon hadn’t worked at all ever since she first set foot into Ljósálfheimr, no matter how many times she charged it.

As she stared holes at the fancy-looking gun, her chin trembled. A dream started to dance in front of her, showing happy moments of herself and the Alfonse Líf had been in the past. They were always laughing, their hands never apart from each other.

The thoughts of that Kiran flowed into her from time to time, showing her that there plans of ring-exchanging in the near future… One that never came after Hel invaded.

“… enough…!” Kiran’s vision blurred as she slammed the weapon on the ground, scattering petals and disturbing the dream, though being unable to stop it entirely.

She thought she had no more tears to cry.

She thought she could finally at least allow her own self to breathe without hacking a sob and burning her throat with her cries.

Oh, vengeful, fickle gods! She thought she could simply exist without confronting all this pain!

“If only I could-” she sniffled, large teardrops flowing out of her eyes, “if only I could choose which Hero would come next… I would’ve taken the you from a moment after we became one. It would’ve been the you who whispered how much you loved me in the stupor of the moment, thinking I hadn’t heard you.” On her knees and pressing Breidablik on the ground with every ounce of strength she had, Kiran felt the tears trickling down her nose towards the weapon. “Even though I know those words were meant for her,” Kiran bobbed her head to herself of the dream, smiling happily at her Alfonse, “I would’ve still chosen that you.” She sobbed, her entire body shaking with grief as she lowered her head to rest it on Breidablik. “Oh, Alfonse!”

The moment her skin and tears touched the ancient weapon, a blinding flash of light emanated from it, engulfing its entirety.

Startled, Kiran fell on her behind, watching as Breidablik levitated and floated just a bit overhead, pointing towards the place the dream was repeating itself as though it were a damaged video file. The Summoner’s eyes widened as the light started to focus on the muzzle, redying itself to shoot.

A summoning?!

Thórr and Loki had proposed Thrasir and Líf to join their ranks simply because they had struggled until long after they had failed – not because they had even gotten closer to winning.

“Was it your power that brought a whisper of life back into us?” Líf asked before he could give his answer, one hand silently clutching his feeble heart.

The god of war simply smirked, ultimately remaining silent. That stole a snicker from the god of mischief beside her. “Isn’t she a delight? It’s always so amusing to watch her deal with her subjects.”

“Subject…” Líf and Thrasir exchanged glances, the answer already etched into their hearts. The former Commander of the dead took a step forward, looking down at the god of war’s short stature, though aware that that form was far from her real one. “Thórr, you have my word. I will bind myself to your contract. I will fight for you.”

Thrasir nodded beside him, while Thórr’s expression remained impassive, her chin always hanging upwards proudly. Before Líf opened his mouth again, the corners of her lips went up, as though anticipating his words.

“But remember this: I will not bind myself to you for all eternity. I will free myself from you – I’ll serve as proof that the arrogance of the gods has its bounds.” He narrowed his eyes menacingly. “I vow this not only for myself, but for another…” He lost his voice by the end of the sentence, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“You are an exemplar Prince.” Thórr opened her arms, giving a nod as a greeting of her newest General. Líf barely had the time to reciprocate the gesture before Thórr spoke again, her eyes trailing to someplace above his shoulder. “Perhaps this vow might be fulfilled sooner than one would expect.” Her smile grew to the point that it almost went from ear to ear, her face contorting into a nightmarish abomination. She looked up to the ceiling, a presence knocking at the borders of that fabricated world she had made solely for this meeting. “I’ll allow!” She pointed upwards, prompting the two royals to follow her gesture with a start.

Loki hummed gingerly as reality distorted itself to open a path to the nothingness that surrounded it. “Oh my, she managed to use it even inside Ljósálfheimr? The rate she keeps getting stronger is simply delicious!”

A tiny ball of light shot through the now open hole, unceremoniously flying straight to Líf, piercing his chest and enveloping him in its warm embrace.

“What manner-” Líf looked at himself in confusion, his surroundings enclosed in a blinding white.

“Alfonse-” Thrasir meant to grab him, but by the time her fingers reached where his hand had been a heartbeat ago, he disappeared. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Thórr and Loki smiled in their own way as the distorted hole returned to normal. “Step forward, Princess. Let us watch their next battle…” Thórr turned on her heel towards the endless corridor preceding the room and left with soundless steps. Loki winked at Thrasir before following along.

“Don’t worry, dearie, we’ll hear from him soon. Very, very soon.”

Breidablik shot straight at the fuzzing dream, a blinding light promptly engulfing it and its surroundings, forcing Kiran to cover her eyes.

For the first time in a long, long while, Kiran felt something akin to hope being sparked into her heart. What was that light? Could… could it be?!

Forcing her eyes to see despite the unfading light, Kiran peeked through her fingers to the shadow that made itself seen from within the summoning grounds. The patch of earth surrounding it had been scorched to ashes and the dream had dissipated with the fog, leaving only the silhouette of a befuddled, familiar man.

“Where… am I-” Líf huffed for breath, his body aching due to the brute force throwing him around between worlds. Narrowing his eyes to see within the thinning mist, the now General of the gods looked around in confusion.

Kiran brought both hands to her mouth in shock, her eyes wide with tears still fresh upon her cheeks. “Al-” she hiccupped, her entire body shaking. “Alfonse?”

Hearing the name he had discarded in that wonderful, loving voice made Líf’s legs tremble as he searched for the source. A timely gush of wind did away with the mist, lifting petals, hair and capes alike as their eyes finally met after what seemed to be an eternity apart.

The pale sunlight shone on Kiran’s tresses, the draft making them dance as time slowed to a halt. He saw her tender hands clutching in shock; her drenched face gleam in wonder; her unbelieving gaze never leaving his own.

Ahh, Líf didn’t even realize he had ran towards her until she was already in his arms, her warmth bringing a shocking, dull ache in his limbs and a surge of energy – his heart that had been beating at long intervals started thumping with the vigor of a living man, his entire body flaming in response.

“Is that- this isn’t another dream, is it?! Oh, tell me this is real!” Kiran sobbed by Líf’s febrile chest, fumbling her hands without knowing where to put them.

Líf pulled away for but a second – enough to peel the mask off of his face – and dove into Kiran’s lips.

“Mmph…!” Surprised by the sudden action as she was midway to a sob, Kiran coughed right as Líf inserted his warm tongue into her mouth, cutting the kiss short. “Hak… hahh…” She panted, grabbling around from Líf’s chest to his neck, then his scalp.

Pressing his forehead into hers, Líf gasped for air, quite rusty with all this breathing business. “Forgive me, I… I should not have done that-”

“No, no, nonono,” Kiran slowly shook her head, digging her nails into his scalp to bring him closer. Their lips brushed against one another, her tongue impatiently peeking out, eagerly seeking his. “Don’t… don’t apologize for doing this. Not now,” she nipped at his lower lip, then bit it and sucked on it, unwilling to move away, “not ever again.”

Líf closed his eyes, unable to keep up with the overwhelming weight of his and Kiran’s feelings clashing and mingling. He hugged her tender body tightly, binding her entirety to him as he inserted his tongue into her mouth. Her taste stole a hungry groan out of his throat, his entire body throbbing with the desire to be with her.

He sucked into her lips, dove into her mouth and tasted her unique flavor, his hands securely pressing her into him while she wrapped both arms around his neck, tilting her body downwards. Unwilling to part from the kiss, the couple flopped down on the soft flowers while a phenomenon that hadn’t happened ever since Kiran arrived unraveled around them: night fell in an instant, its bright stars and moonlight illuminating their eager bodies.

Dissolving their kiss into smaller ones, Líf huffed as he sucked and licked Kiran’s lips, his body inadvertently moving back and forth as her own accompanied from below him.

“Hold me, Alfonse- hold me-” she cupped his face so they could look each other in the eyes. She saw that his red brimmed with life; a warm light deep within glinting with desire. “Show me that this is truly real…” She pecked his lips, pulling him closer so she could kiss his cheeks, then ear and hair.

Inebriated with her taste, warmth and appetite, Líf reciprocated her gestures – a trail of kisses starting from her lips went down to her cheeks, ear, then to her neck and collarbone. As Kiran moved her hands to grasp Líf’s hair, the General slowly stopped, his own, large, hands taking hers out of him so he could lift his body upwards.

Lying down in the middle of his spread knees and watching him tilt his body backwards to as to strip himself of his gloves and cape made Kiran gulp and rub her legs in anticipation.

His red eyes shone in the dim moonlight – and to be the recipient of such deep, unfazing desire made the Summoner’s whole body shiver. Líf placed his mantle on the space right beside Kiran, dutifully claiming her back into his arms to move her to the softer surface before once again diving into a passionate kiss. The Summoner arched her back eagerly as Líf trailed his hands down to her thighs, squishing them between his fingers in delight, reminding himself of how her soft skin felt. He lowered his touch to the back of her knees, pulling her legs upwards and spreading them in front of him as she promptly wrapped them around his waist.

“Kiran, oh, my Kiran…” he bemoaned as he felt her hips moved up and down close to his own, enticing him to hell and back. He took delight in tasting every inch of her skin, kissing and sucking his trail from her lips to her cleavage, leaving marks in his wake. He groped her breasts under her thin tank top, huffing in pleasure as he was once again reminded of how she usually went without a bra.

“Eek-ah…!” Kiran felt a jolt of sensations as his cold yet warm hands lifted her top to reveal her bare chest, her nipples hardening immediately under his touch. Her inebriating voice fogged Líf eyes – moved by the primal urge to claim the woman he loved, he could barely keep himself from biting the softness of her areolas as he carefully ground them with his teeth.

Another zap of pleasure flooded Kiran’s body as Líf licked and sucked on one nipple while rubbing the other one between his fingers. She arched her back upwards, urging him to continue; to take all of herself to him – to fill her insides with all of him. Panting, Kiran took one hand to her mouth to muffle her moans while the other dug into Líf’s head.

Líf felt that he was slowly but surely going crazy – he rolled his eyes in pleasure as she rubbed her inner thighs into his throbbing erection, hidden within his pants. The taste of her body was immensely different than when he was still dead.

It was addicting.

He wanted to kiss and lick every part of her body and call her his own.

Her bashful, muffled moans echoed inside his head, louder and louder the hungrier his mouth was, filling his entire being with the sole need of pleasing her and uniting with her.

Under Líf’s mouth, Kiran’s entire body trembled – she felt the fire of climax hover around her cells, simply looking down at her and refusing to come while it didn’t have what it truly wanted; what it truly needed.

“…ease-” She choked a huff, breathing heavily. “P-please, give it to me- I can’t-” she rubbed her already wet underwear over his erection – it was so hard! Was it always that way? Oh, she _needed_ to know – biting her lower lip in anticipation.

Líf squeezed his eyes shut with the wave of desire that came from her words, wanting more than anything to shove it all in and bring them both the pleasure they wanted.

But he was so hungry.

He was so very hungry for her.

He wanted, he needed, he _craved_ for her taste.

Once again he trailed down his mouth. Towards her bellybutton, then hips and finally reaching her inner thighs. He lifted her miniskirt and pulled down her underwear, tossing it somewhere behind him as he licked his lips in anticipation for his meal.

Spreading her labia to reveal her moist insides, Líf readily dove into her vulva, sucking into her clit with unparalleled thirst.

“Ah-ahh…!” Kiran squeezed her eyes in pleasure, digging her nails into Líf’s scalp. She felt the fire of climax spread through her legs towards her innards, enveloping her heart in a hot embrace. The more Líf drank from her, the wetter she became, and the closer climax loomed into her insides, shaking her very core.

Feeling her vaginal opening twitch endlessly with the approaching orgasm, Líf stole a look at her from his position, immediately closing one eye for his erection hurt with lust.

Her flushed face; her shut eyes, her gaping mouth.

Líf wanted it all. He _had_ it all.

She was his.

And he was hers.

“My one and only,” he kissed her inner thighs, trailing his lips until her calf as he pulled her closer to him, placing her legs over his shoulder. 

Panting, Kiran’s vision was blurry with the approaching orgasm – she needed just a little bit more to grasp it when Líf stopped his caresses. He freed his bulging erection at last, shuddering a bit when the cold air slapped it before prodding it at her vaginal opening.

“Hahh, hahh…” Kiran huffed, biting her lower lip in anticipation. She hadn’t realized she cried tears of pleasure, so no wonder she could barely make out her surroundings. “P-please- give it to me-” she begged once more, rolling her head to the sides in a drunken plea. “I- I… I also love- ahhh…!”

Before she could finish her confession, Líf put it in slowly, enjoying how her inner walls accommodated him once again – it was as though she had molded herself to him and him only. It was overwhelming to the both of them: Kiran’s entire body shook with the orgasm the deeper Líf penetrated until it was all inside; and Líf had to take a moment to blink as his vision had darkened from the rush of emotions and feelings he felt the moment they were finally joined.

Kiran squeezed herself around Líf, her entirety trembling and pulsating as though to keep him inside of her forever. Overwhelmed, Líf slowly bent back down to her, making the penetration feel even deeper to her as she stretched out a long moan.

“I love you,” he confessed as he pulled it out with difficulty – she was sucking him in so much he had to roll his hips to poke at her sensitive spots to allow him out, “I’ll always love every bit of you.” He slowly put it all back in, enjoying her choked moan as she struggled to handle the pleasure over pleasure she was feeling.

“You- ahh… You stole my-ann…” She tried to speak under his constant rhythm as he went in and out, in and out… He was igniting the fire inside of her once again, not allowing the previous orgasm to cool her down. “My line…”

Líf kissed her cheek and licked her ear as his rhythm accelerated slowly, ever so slowly, driving her crazy. He huffed by her ear, his warm breath tingling on her skin, forcing her to dig her nails onto his back lest she lost herself entirely.

“Only that I, ah, feel that I’ve beeeen… waiting for you to unlock my heart ah-again…” She sniffled as her body shook with his pounding into her, growing faster and faster. She truly felt that the sole reason for her to be summoned into this world was to meet him; to meet Alfonse as Líf.

It was as though she had a compulsion to be with him the moment they first met; making her soul lurch towards him whenever their eyes met. She was his.

And he was hers.

Líf felt his eyes tingle with emotion, his lower body accelerating his movements to accompany the rush inside his head and heart. “Hahh, hahh… Kiran, my Kiran… it’s always been you…” He squeezed his eyes in pleasure, his breathing mingling with hers as their lips brushed on one another within their shared heat.

“Alfonse-” she bemoaned his name over and over again, cupping his head to dive into his kiss at the same time their bodies shook with the climax.

Líf liberated himself inside of her, making Kiran feel the warm fluids streaming down within her amidst the tingling and fogged sensation of the orgasm. Exhausted, the Summoner’s hands fell limp on the sides of her head, small moans escaping through her gritted teeth as her insides once again pulsated around Líf.

The General pressed his forehead on hers, his mind a blank while his lower body shuddered, wanting to rise again to claim her until neither of them could take it.

To think that he would only feel complete again after dying and being brought back to life.

It was all so he could meet her again.

It was all so she could meet him again.

Crying tears of pleasure, Kiran held Líf’s tender hand that had caressed her cheek and smiled weakly, kissing its palm. She took a short breath to speak, but Líf was faster, resulting in the both of them confessing at the same time:

“I love you.” They huffed in the same tone, a wide smile leaving Líf’s lips. “Thank you for bringing me back to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually planning on writing a (late) valentine's fic for Líf and I wanted to post it here as the third chapter that I hadn't announced, but I changed my mind; I'm gonna post it as its own fic and say its part of a series~

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this first chapter way back into 2019 when we finally got the background story I needed to give Líf a personality (that he's the Alfonse from another Askr) but always wanted to write one after he was summoned to wrap everything together... and now that he's avaliable to summon, I wrote chapter 2 (will post it here in a week or so, though it's already up on my tumblr if you wanna check it out)


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